Chronicles of Dark Water
by ridt
Summary: In progress. Prequel to Chronicles of Octopon. Mutual enemies do not an alliance make. Spoiler Warning.
1. Captain Phorlock

"Now you will pay the price for her grave, son!" Long before a burnout from the attack could subside, an impulse of adrenaline overwhelmed at the gruesome sight, the enemy of his own carnage. Dilated and recklessly curt were the Zuuror's gray pupils. Phorlock cried as a mourning father should. His beautiful daughter and his proud son lay on the ground, gone forever.

He was seventy-four and though his oldest legacy lived four tundroaic-decades and his youngest almost, their lives were cut inexplicably short. His only son was under his hands. He couldn't have let Mantus get away with what he did, yet he wailed for his hasty act. His cardinal saber tousled to the dust, he wept stilling tears on the Infinayum emblem embossed on the shaft, blurring the artisan-framework and melding in a bloodied slurry on the waning dune. Kutlack is Mer's most deadly poison known, in his possession and awaiting his meddle to swallow.

By Toiishok and Kuunda's law, suicide was permissible in a time and place such as now. Rain did not fall on these shores and tundra, only a slow death by dehydration laid ahead. The Zuuror scratched his final memoir into the sand.

"Zuuror! Zuuror, please wake up!" Zuuror Phorlock stretched for his eyeglass, yawning and groaning in regard to the awakening call of his sounding maidservant. "What troubles His Majesty this morning?" Twitching to the breach of her tender whisper, his vision flooded with sweet-polished furniture.

He trembled as she placed his breakfast on the plump and posh bedside. The platters were unpredictable by this careful but helpful maiden and fully delicious, this worrisome morning she served him Sun-kerr-cakes in Aksort syrup.

"Another nightmare. Thank you, Fair Avadasia, you are dismissed." Phorlock dipped a kabob-dowel into the meal of kerne and yuugla-lanmche. He told as he had been informed, this new maiden was a dream. Though her shape was like other ladys of street-class, she cared meticulously for his quarters and remained beauteous for an even-tempered appearance.

"Does it please His Highness to go aloft the veranda?" Avadasia drew the velvet drapes aloft a fresh centerpiece, light shone over the dawn sill.

"No, no, I am able to move on my own. Help is not needed. I have to stand, I must address the valjenit-" Composing his attire, he reached for a scroll he would read with the dawn account. Fair Avadasia waited for no men, she could massage every sore on his aching ribs, and he had since before nodded off under her sinfully-delectable touch. Somehow, he could still taper-off before the flow of her movement could pulse through his veins, ever powerfully it shook him and did not subside. The flutter swelled and rolled down his spine, doing him in.

"The Zuuror must rest, he spends so much time already on Valjen..." Avadasia whispered a pleasing note, hopefully to remedy his fears.

"Avadasia...please." Phorlock garbled a selection of grunts from a short phrase. Shushing her noises with the tips of his fingers, he uncoiled her wrist from his groin.

"Zuuror, are the coasts of Qui-Qua being raided by Valjen invaders right now?" Avadasia sincerely bid a hand-wave as Phorlock barely managed to stutter a no under the suitoress' touch. "Would a plan to permanently handle this pirate-problem, please His Highness?" She stewed on why a few robberies could cause so much distress from the everyday-laborers.

"I've told you of my meeting with Kyn of the Kreeanain." Phorlock humbly pronounced his creed in the influencing alliance. For though his spirit and body were eased, his tension would return.

"Kyn? You prefer company of he rather than to me." Avadasia fumbled for praise, often assuming Zuuror Phorlock could figure why his maidservant took ample fascination with his efforts for a devout allegiance of peacekeepers.

"Aheem. The safety of Qui-Qua rests under my jurisdiction, Avadasia." Phorlock's bristled mane swirled with a cough to his suitor as he left and locked her room. Avadasia sat scowling on the canopy.

Mandatory Disclaimer: Pirates of Dark Water is property of it's respective owners, all character likenesses are coincidental. More or less this is a transformative fic, meaning the characters and are the same but this isn't a continuity. (Read CoO for that. :)) I make no profit off typing fanfiction, please do not sue me, for I 'm but a poor 'lass. Original characters are property of myself, please ask permission for use. Many references and scenes are adult, please do not imitate.

CHRONICLES OF DARK WATER

~ Prequel to Chronicles of Octopon, The Dark Saga. The Events leading to the Origin of The Quest start over twenty years before the Search for Octopon's Treasures of Rule. We began the starting tale with the adventure of a young King Primus ~

Rigel Primus of Octopon had been imparted the Crown on his sixteenth birthday by his mother, in his Father Neshean's place, and hardly he could adjust the feel to become King of his Homeland. Octopian tradition dictated for royal Appointed of his age to attend an Honors' ceremony, accompanied by a maiden voyage around the world on the Milliogron of International Caravels. He hadn't been happy with the idea initially, as it meant leaving Octopon Palace and the many friends of his community for an entire year, but the caravan was cordially given on behalf of all Welcoming nations. Declining an invitation would often result as a breach in trust among most colonies, and for certain the allies.

"I am Zuuror Phorlock, the Highest Order of Imperial Qui-Qua. What brings you to the shores of our ancient and mystic civilization, King Primus?" Rigel yielded at the summon of the almighty Spiritual Leader. The curious regent was jammed out of admiring a grand obelisk of a Quiin-Drakonik in Water-Mantid form, a megalith in the prime of his Race.

"The name is Rigel, Rigel of the House of Primus. I visit on terms of Peace and Goodwill on behalf of Octopon City. In the arrival of the Milliogron of International Caravels to the Advancement of Cultural Development for Equatorial Sciences, and with your decree, I come bearing the Gift of Mutual Discovery and Exploration for His Leadership's Tribe and Our own." Rigel Primus soundly exchanged a sweet introductory while unlatching the safe and whisking the hinge away from the knapsack, producing a slew of scrolls and inscribed papyrus upon the prim carpeting.

"I have expected your visitation, Octopon. I will ask no deed, for I am a classman of seamanship myself, an exchange of values may be in Qui-Qua's interest." Defined as a scholar at-heart, the Zuuror took no insult from the well-exalted newcomer.

The youngest heir to the House of Primus and though a savvy boy through this expedition, Rigel became thoroughly misplaced. He dallied not to study the language, profusely complex, and the culture, abstract to him. The weather fluctuated between frigid and scorching temperatures on a hair-vane. Qui-Qua is a patriarchal island, as he knew, far from poverty-stricken as most of Mer's places named in 'her Star-libraries back home.

The Quiin utilized the atmosphere to a strategic advantage, bringing forth sufficient resources to go on. Because of what he had heard by his mother, it is held more critical for males from these shores to parent babies than he remembered such from many of the ladys of Octopon he saw. In the local Districts, he could surely tell this as true.

"Qui-Qua would be most Gracious if His Majesty, King of Octopon, would for board for the Evening. Palace maidens will prepare our Banquet, our Historic Library and Banking halls are open for the unexpected arrival." The youthful lad halted when considering the Zuuror's hospitality.

Phorlock escorted Rigel and his legion through a set on the stage of the glassine theater. Several high-brow servants swept tile and the props, cleaning for players and audience.

"Forgive me, I don't know His Majesty's age." Rigel kept his first impression of The Zuuror as a benign but mighty ruler, the kind of lord women would always find attractive. Handsome and strong he was hearkened, of divine intelligence, and no wife.

"Thirty-six." Phorlock gently hinted from a cheeking palm. "His Majesty of Octopon?" He returned on cue, Qui-Qua's Law unspoken required for divinity of his status to become acquainted with the worlds' custom.

Rigel swung from right to left along the high steps of the aristocratic fortress. His mother was often absent in her chair so he often studied by himself, the frontiers of Octopon's palace were his to explore. The inquisitive lad was practiced in Quiin-Common poorly, so when he nonchalantly mumbled the embarrassing number he whispered Kuunda's name to not cause a stir.

The table ahead was being brushed by a soaking cloth from the maiden nearby, the boy settled into the cushion he was pulled. The Zuuror drew his sparkling glass in the banquet-hall.

"Sixteen, such a rarity for a lad of to receive the crown, I have reigned for thirty-one on the seat of Qui-Qua, technically. Allow me invite you to when I will conceive the Mightiest Zuuror to ever rule the six seasides of this Isle." Zuuror Phorlock extended his hand in invitation to the most grandeur event of he and his future wife. He would be fertile, as the astrologers predicted with a Syukn.

"I thank you for your hospitality, however I am needed in court by order of Octopon's men." Rigel politely declined, Phorlock's gesture prompted his examine of the pristine cutlery of alien origin. Though the ceremony was of his interest, the national voyage held priority. He otherwise could not imagine how it was to be seated to the crown and raised by Qui-Qua's legion at the age of four.

"Please consider. It would be Zuuror's Honor to prepare accommodations, if you change your mind." Zuuror Phorlock formally initiated an extended welcome, always open to suggestion.

Along the palace hallways, a gaggle of twenty-aged vixens shoved each other to catch a peek at the daring visitor.

"So hansome!" Chythea squealed and she swooned, leaning first in a line of the group pressed by the door cracking to the inside of the banquet-hall. "Shh!" the familiar accomplices shut the handle to the frame. Sadly and slothfully, the doorman found she was being too loud.

"So athletic!" Vistona recoiled a spastic twitch from her mouth. For worse, she and Gonh-yay shared a common fascination with foreign personalities.

"His hair...is it made of gold?" Gonh-yay playfully pothered. She enjoined in their starlit smiles and gossip.

"oeystia is probably singing lullabies in some little corner, wishing she could be a part of this." Rudely to the forefront of the lustful twins' admiration, Chythea imitated a mooning-whisper.

"Tides of Tornadica, were flowing to the district." Rigel garbled a phrase from a serverman. Sea-quakes from the seven riffs were aggravated by lunar storms and 'her weather conditions were due to Mer's erratic revolution. Qui-Qua was not as advanced in meteorology and geology as was Octopon.

"Zuuror Xadas was the cruelest Noble to ever reign over Qui-Qua's soil. He forbid his favorite wife from leaving her dungeon, he chained her all night. His servants fed her infrequently and he did not touch her unless she was brought out to bear the Benevolent Ookhaat." Rigel snapped out of sciences to observe picture in the gallery of an attractive ruler.

"Why is that statue is much grander than I noticed on the court?" Rigel smilingly desired to quench his curiosity among the populating race of Qui-Qua. Though he was to stay in territory for only a week and his would leave the palace before darkfall, his hopes were bright.

"That...is a Quiin-Draconik in his Pure Nature, as we call Dre Yiixahcuns. The giant water-mantis. In ancient times the facial quills were used to drink nutrients from water, and the drenipper is for ahem, mating. Unlike the recessed bodies of Quiin you see, Yiixahcuns is how healthy Ookhaat are produced, unfortunately many of our men cannot achieve this due to foreign influences." The Zuuror motioned to the prehistoric obelisk of converse, Phorlock ascertained this was due to unwelcome breeding.

The King silently listened, a sculpture appeared unnoticed, shrouded by a faded curtain. "That hidden statue is twice grander than even the sculpture in court." Rigel professed a profound appreciation of the art, amazed by what he had seen from the portentous effigy.

"Ahh, yes. That is the monument of Zuurorahssii Asterquia, from the antiquity of Qui-Qua. She was the only Zuurorahssii to be without Ookhaat, she reigned until her femininity no longer allowed for Mak Yexahcunza." Zuuror Phorlock hastily moved on, plodding solidly on the soles of tubed sandals.

Rigel blinked for the procession. "I didn't know your sorcerers could predict when the time is correct for your ceremony. Does the Zuuror take a Queen?" Careful to not be rude or imposing, Rigel suggested a casual query of conversation.

"Her mother was stricken by a rote-cough, I knew nothing of it until she woke me that fateful summer's day to warn me of..." Phorlock zoned out in a day-dream, searching for a visual memoir.

"Your Highness, the roads are blockaded..." Rigel's attendants stormed to the regent's location, pardoning a likeness to sudden interruption. Varo knelt to Rigel's nobility, informing both the Zuuror and he of significant damage to the fleet.

Rigel at last agreed to Zuuror Phorlock's specifications. According to Varo's report, his journey must be delayed and resume when tornado's wreckage was cleared.

Another laborious eveling begun for docile Oeystia. she was often ridiculed for being an ugly runt, as the Staggazer Team called her. Truthfully, she was the smallest of the bunch, placed among a quartet comprised of would-be valley-girls from the Green-Eye District, the high-class strumpets of Quiin Society. Formal hired-help, they lived and served at the Palace without the problematic danger of street walking. Staggazers were valued higher than a common concubine, but wealthier maids complained of poor-taste and a nuisance. oeystia was proudly in Zuuror's service if only she could forget the crisis that brought her to fate's bondage.

"Oeystia, what is the matter with you?! Why don't you want to serve the Zuuror?! His Majesty is awaiting at the hall, he won't wait forever!" oeystia resisted as her brash co-mate tugged on her wrist, her issued uniform had not been pressed in a week.

"Sorry...my stomach!" The little matron collapsed to knees under agonized pangs. Numb to the nagging and eventual distress of her blind-sighted counterpart, she was not presentable for serving Phorlock and by no means would she take advantage of his mercy.

PART

Oeystia rested easy, cozy with tray of soup and padelcrn-rice. Receiving and enjoying by the protection of Toiishok, fate would allow hatch for one pair or quintuplets. The full six rarely survived the seventh trimester. Zuuror Phorlock promised the deserved care for her delivery. Children of the Zuuror often received gifts and grants, many of awesome trade-value. If Oeystia bore him a son, he would ascertain she was well-off. She screamed as her vision faded out.

Avadasia removed the machete lodged through Oeystia's groin, the Ookhat's sack burned. While she transferred the materials and necessities she diluted the Ruukana's essence, with it and a hair of the destroyed woman she would assume the perfect mother. The patients' door creaked and shone with sun.

"Oh, you're here. Dress her for the Zuuror's feast, Slaggon." The Lady answered to a noise from the cracked handle. Wrapping Oeystia's body was a breeze and because the chambermaid was deaf, her task was ever easy.

"Shall I summon Bloth?" The stout teen detached the limbs of oeystia, granting a further hand.

The maid frowned. She would need to contact Bloth before she would bear the foul news to her husband. "No. I asked for Phorlock, my Boy, not your brother." Avadasia hushed the disheartened lad from the flick of her busy wrist. "Huuntar." Calling on the reinforcements, she decided to distract Slaggon from the subject of her dearest son.

"Yes'm." Huuntar cleaned the mess while she knelt to her lady's honor, biting her lip, as she hated the unusual name father had bestowed. It did not matter because everyone called her the nightmare nurse for a distinctly cold mien that was endlessly worn on her profile.

Avadasia wondered of her predicament. She had been instructed to obtain Qui-Qua's Treasure of Rule in a timely manner, Lord Moordarsh of Stalagor would not be pleased.

"Zuuror, Highness! Highness, Zuuror, I bring awful news! oeystia is in shock, the Ookhaat is too..." Phorlock shook with disbelief to the lead nurse's forewarning. Oeystia, his wife-to-be, her birth was traumatic. The Benevolent Ookhaat he had long prayed for in Qui-Qua's service would tear through the intestinal lining of the girl with much potential to be his partner.

Every Zuuror of the Bloodline grew to be lithe and dexterous, thick-built to the endurance of Draconik-kind but Phorlock remained, for a Quiin worse or fitter, unusually heavy-boned. He knelt to cry and for the first time, cursed his lineage.

Her fading life resigned to a plummeting circulation as he placed the Saqtai star over her forehead. Oeystia, riven with a synchronic breath, to her he gave stillness. She, his flora, was beautifully dressed in slate for their impending wedding.

"Name." Zuuror Phorlock pushed to bid the nurse away, in tears listened to oeystia's final request for eggs among the away batch.

"Saytisa." Phorlock whispered to the dust of the Saqtie blossom of his whole goodbye. The Zuuror counted a single mantid-egg from the pouch before he left oeystia permanently lay to sleep.

"Saytisa! Saytisa, play!" Mantus jumped through the threshold of the vehkyis chamber, ready and equipped to share a game of Goipball. The tallest Zuuror stood in silence as the boy laughed and eagerly waited while hovering over the bedside.

"No, Saytisa is very sick." Finally he gave in to a lad who would not relent. Phorlock recollected on the days of Rigel Primus's stay, and later of Oeystia's funeral, during the dead of winter.

Mantus stared from the backside, his Yahil's tears dribbled on the silken sheets and not a word more was spoken.


	2. Collision

Mantus played alone in the time of his youth. For a boy aged five tundroaic-years, he barely talked and he would entrust but one friend with his royal happenings.

"Your turn, Mantus. Mantus?" The cheerful playmate caught the ball. She frowned as Mantus sketched lines in the shore-blown sand by his lonesome.

"An idea." Mantus smiled on his dusty plans, he was profoundly smart for a youngling of his size. His schemes were sometimes likened by the Zuuror himself, his imagination, even more superb.

Why he did none will tell but after searching endlessly through the Junlie's library, Mantus found the gleam from a Treasure of Rule could be the only cure. The only known Treasure of Rule was rumored to be ring, heavily buried on bottom of the Orange-Eye District.

Saytisa was merely a nine tundroaic-years when she had caught the Rote-cough. Mantus swerved about and tossed the toy back. His friend from the palace literary-hall, Huuntar, promised to accompany him on the voyage to bottom-end and back.

Very few Quiin knew what or why the magical Treasure guarded at the depths. Mantus focused on his reality, Yahil never played because of his sister's illness.

"Does Zuuror know you're-!" The rock sharply hit the guard as two little-leas hollered with glee.

Four boots prepared to board the sharkem-sub. The small Tikla hopped inside the esophagus, attaching the spongy dome over his head. Huuntar assumed the right, as they had planned.

"Come back here!" No avail for the slow militia's attempts to coral the whelp and escort, before they both crawled inside the transport and plummeted deep down. Mantus and Huuntar were not afraid of authority, and Mantus had rode with his Father's steering almost anywhere.

Huuntar high-foured her counterpart, slapping palms to victory. Mantus withheld his hesitation of why Huuntar would accompany him of her own will. She was plain for a female friend, twice the age as Saytisa, and took no interest in clothing or face-paint.

"Avadasia. She's my sister by twelve tundroaic-centuries." Huuntar explained her purposes as Mantus could tell, but not to comprehend. "I clean after her errors. This is different, Mantus." Huuntar swore her humility on the mission, and with a modest giggle she smiled. The boy at the controls nodded and drove the reluctant beast to frontiers of the abyss.

Mantus labored at several attempts to pry the mystical gemstone on the golden crown loose, fighting through tears and straining limbs. The magnetic pressure released and Mantus gleamed with a spectacle of promised dreams, the mischievous child delighted to have finally rested the treasure upon his crest.

Five tundraoic-years, a Suhum-generational Tikla, and somehow he was here.

It was heard from the entity that dwelt within the bleak cavern hearkening to the sound of his plunge.

"You enter my Lair at the center of Mer to ask for a favor?" The depth spoke, a lurid dark awoke to wrap the excitable visitors, as if it enveloped the face of all light. Huuntar shuddered and searched to egress.

"What do I call you by, your Lordship?" The Tikla trembled. Mantus wanted to scream, by some force of inhuman nature his voice was welded shut.

"Say your deed before the body of the Dark Dweller. Your superior-sister a Quiin-Draconik child, sick on her deathbed, is more valuable than your weak bones." Mantus listened to the waves of an impeccable void ricochet throughout endless columns of pouring sludge, he revered the ooze raising forth over the only sparkle.

"This. Save her life." The child trembled as he fixed a hand to his mature counterpart. Mantus tossed his eyes as his trade in the knapsack was drawn above to the screeching tendrils. He could not react, or move, and even blinking was a process his dragging muscles would not permit.

"You are sure, little Prince?" All light was snuffed out. The gloomy drainage restricted him at the elbow, sewing his wrist to their sockets. It grasped his ankle, gagged and swaddled his skull in impermeable film. It consumed and drowned out the squeals of Huuntar before young Mantus was given time to properly answer.

The heat tore shreds in a hollowed soul, tiny eyes stricken bloodshot closed to a vanishing glimmer of hope.

"Lady Avadasia will take her payment with me, Dweller." The empty plague reached out to the doubtful shadow of Huuntar's laggard face, unlimited Ruukaana ore and teleportation prowess granted to the maid's unfeasible control was the exchange for Qui-Qua's Treasure of Rule.

PART

"Miss Saytisa, hello? Anyone in there?" Tapping lightly on the clothen bedpost, the daily maid whispered for the princess and by a yawn, she heard her answer. She shook the sheets, as they would conceal a gentle shoulder.

"Huh? Hey there, Atalae. I twisted my neck on the Teyuat grounds after I fell asleep, and I'm still a little out of it I guess." Saytisa the vehkyis arose, she let her confession be known through a crackling melody of her pillows. The rummaging of spring birds from the outside world would not have brought her peace.

"Are you serious? Miss Saytisa, what's with you? You don't walk through the Teyuat grove, and not without wearing a scarf, that's asking to pass out! I'm your friend, not your schoolmarm, and even I know that. What's wrong?" Atalae concerned upon Miss Saytisa's listlessness, and the vehkyis narrowed tired eyes.

"I'm sorry...Brother recently grew his rings and he's been absolutely intolerable. I would have thought he would be happy, but instead he's just become...a piping brank while he's been here. Father's been talking of a gentlelord from the Lavender-Eye district. I just needed to...clear my head." Saytisa crimped a loose pin flatly over a tress of her hair while she twiddled the stationary knife. Beneath the plush cushions she held favorite the flower she would collect as she studies, it often helped her to remember. Yahil could not possibly find fault while her ink-pen and scriptures laid on bedside. Regardless, she was attracted to the Saqtie-stars and the anesthetic pollen they shed, and she was drawn to them for any reason. It was a dangerous fondness, but perhaps then her Father shouldn't have named her after such drowsy flowers.

"Is he that much trouble, I mean, it's not like you go to the same hall-class. He goes to the Tri Fellows' Academy, right?" Atalae pondered why the vehkyis Saytisa complained so, for the Julien-Zuuror's coming of age would allow for the Vehkyis's freedom as well. It was not a full right of passage as was the Mak Yexahcunza, Saytisa always said. 'Lady comforted in discussions about Tikla Mantus becoming Whole Zuuror, and when that time came she would be elsewhere.

"He does. The thing is, all his classmates grew theirs when they were my age. At fourteen, he's the youngest in his entire class to have them, now he thinks he can do anything at all." The vehkyis sighed uncomfortably. The vehkyis of Sovereign Qui-Qua owned more disadvantages than perks. One of the many included feigning a narrow smile in the company of Niok and the certain women of the palace who would remorselessly starve her barren and leave her to the sharkemsubs.

"You're still besting him at Divining tasks." Atalae blinked slowly, conversing normally allowed her companion to cheer up.

"Divining Tasks. I'm 'divining' the moonrise Yahil will send him back to the naja-muzzles." Saytisa withheld ire to Atalae for the sake of her principle, and she was sometimes the only high-born dame in the palace who paid attention to the demure chambermaid. Atalae pursed her lip.

"Miss Saytisa, I know it may be rude to ask but do you think it's possible you could buy me a new apron? It is the middle of the month and I'd really like to save up some." The homekeep swooned at her friend of seventeen tundroiac-years old, then her swollen belly.

"Isn't Yahil paying you enough, Atalae?" Saytisa expressed surprise as she circled an eye at her peer.

"Of course, it's just I'm eternally grateful to him for his kindness after the incident and I couldn't possibly ask him for more. His priority is Qui-Qua's harbors, and pirates...one orphan shouldn't be his concern. On Toiishok's Divinity I would never damper him from Valjen, even for one bay-gale." Saytisa's eyes barely-slitted while listening to Atalae's overture, and nodded away the unfriendly subject.

Saytisa cleansed her breath, scrawling on a blank page.

"Honestly, Miss Saytisa, I would stay here even if he paid me nothing at all and gave me board under the bathroom fountain. This place is nothing like what it was back home, but I can never again share it with who I wish I could..." Atalae searched not backward but forward to the time when she would be together with the permanent remnant of his heart, a maiden's bondage to the stranger who saved her life exhausted her spirit but also greatly gifted her with joy. Saytisa curled to a native face like her own, only one sad, and about to weep.

"Is it really that much different from where you lived? I know your house was lost but did not your haikspers grant you an inheritance? Your mother asked us to-" Saytisa remembered all too much, as she looked out the window to admire from her spire a spot of vergy grass. The weather was chilly. The climate in the Zuuror's District remained the same moderate-temperature, more or less. Being far to Sovereign North meant never seeing night until two thirds of the year were over.

"I would never dream of using that gold from my yasheim for myself. It is only for the hope holy Zuuror will imprison and slay the naja-muzzles, to free me." The whimsy chambermaid hummed to her dreams, she watched a young Atalae. Many times she stared longingly into the mirror, often told she was a fine-act, even besting the other dames. If only not for the damage done by the valjenite raids, perhaps she would be finely wedded and yasheim to many healthy Ookhaat.

"I'll make sure you have enough, Atalae." Saytisa acceded to a generous offer, very accustomed she was to the maiden's usual spacey spell. Plenty of gold in Qui-Qua's treasury would allow for such an accident.

"Really, Miss Saytisa? Thank y-!" Saytisa merely mumbled as an afterthought but the staff-concubine granted a blithesome exclamation, beside herself in pleasantries to her committed comrade.

"Saytisa must study!" Zuuror's immediate tearing of the plated blinds quieted the vehkyis chamber.

"But-" Saytisa grasped as a blank atlas in a desperate flounder to persuade her overprotective Yahil otherwise.

"You can visit her, after!" Phorlock drew in a cool breath as he ordered his finest maid through the vehkyis's threshold. Noon-tide chat was customary for the duo but a superior-lord did not want distractions. To daily gossip he would have been played a sportive guest even so, if his daughter hadn't angered him.

"Yes'sr, Your Majesty." Atalae gathered a bunching garb as she nodded and tiptoed out.

"Why were you in the Grove of the Teyuat?" Zuuror Phorlock settled his pounding heart, he plucked the creamy flower off the table and both fingers would have twisted the remaining petal into the natural dust all Saqtie Stars dispersed.

"I wasn't, I was just looking outside of the pathway. I went far too far from the garden, it was really an accide-" Tears were often shed when a vehkyis knelt submissively to the Zuuror, apologetic for her blunder. For Both the truth and dishonesty she wept. Saytisa wandered because she did not have the right to privacy in the palace under her Yahil's oversee.

"You're aware what could have happened." Phorlock reminded his dear daughter of one dire consequence, he abruptly cut her off.

"Father, I'm so-" Saytisa willfully stuttered, wishing to atone for her erring ways. Yahil was angrier than the happenstance when she had disappeared to the grove for a double-moonrise.

"You don't leave the palace until Mantus comes home from Class, eight moonrises from now." The Zuuror left Saytisa under tough discipline when she lived on the foul prefecture of his nerves. She was aware Yahil's palace-law is strict, because she had breached his trust once again he was everything stern and intolerable.

"Yes, Yahil." Saytisa surrendered in silence as she heard him leave, she spun once to arise. Giving a moment, she resigned to pin the flower under her hair. "Three cheers for the Cloistered Princess of Qui-Qua!" She knelt instantaneously. Flopped off her slippers, she collapsed on bed to drink some of the lady's stout she had for one moon hid under her nightstand, and she grinned.

"Prime marks as always, Saytisa. I don't know how you do it." The assigned schoolmarm bent in view to her vehkyis while she pushed several documents beside, grading them diligently.

"I should be doing more now that I can't set foot outside the palace for another era." The pupil quavered from the scratching hand, to a sardonic flap of her eyelids.

"His Highness Phorlock is an excellent yahil to you, Saytisa. I know if I found out my daughter was walking in the Groves of Teyuat I would make sure she never walked to academy unescorted again. Not everything beautiful is good for you, young ma'am, and your friends tell you wrong. Also, check on your Common. You need not know as much articulation as noblelords but by Kuunda's Law, be proficient." Natasku trot while she read an act about being a palace schoolmarm, and she finished her lecture by dumping a barge-full of make-up papers on the hall's table.

Saytisa sighed and regain the stamina to bore her attention at the on the scroll above her sil, one resentment toward her father was for granting such a prissy hireling.

PART

The shuffling of paper whistled through the study-ward.

"I'm sure you don't want to sound like a herdswoman when yahil takes you overseas. Don't worry, no one will say anything rude, they'll just laugh." Natasku-Guo left, uneasily displeased. Her hopes dashed, the event she last wished for was to leave Saytisa in her misery on this day.

"Merrian Common, why must you be so hard?" The teen vehkyis tried a trick to pronounce the phrase in the book again and coughed, Yahil was always away while hard tears began to trickle.

"I hear sniffling...Don't cry, Saytisa! It's immature!" The matron's snide chide echoed.

Atalae would be such a friend to sneak a pair of earmuffs because Saytisa's prudent schoolmarm often shouted from the royal hallway of her own agenda.

Things were different in the Sovereign District from whence she came from, mainly women trained in academy for the sake of being corrected. Her quarter-class was learning extensive history of Quiin-kind. Saytisa found a excerpt in her study-log amazing, during the Shienak era the majority of Shienak women were taught assuming the Mak Yexahcunza without a partner was improper and now currently no female of the Quiin race can draw enough energy for the water-mantid at will. "I would love to become a Diviner, Atalae, but Niok goes to the best academy." The vehkyis of the Blue-Eye always vocalized her notes and letters.

The grandest honor in Qui-Qua exploded with activity. Civilian men and women lined the walls for eight-units to own a glimpse at the Zuuror commanding twenty-one legions of dagrons and ecoterafighters.

"We will not allow Valjenite pirates to plunder Qui-Qua's shores. We will show them agony and run them into the salty-sea until they fear us, but we do not hunt them like they do hunt us! By the Protectors of the North, we are not murderers, and cursed be their names to Toiishok's Forever Darkness those Quiin men who shed blood for gold and glory! Now go! Mak Toii!" The Zuuror's phrase reververated over endless highlands. His somber address to the congregation he owed to his quick wit and his advisors, who may have warned it would be advantageous to raise morale.

"Hail Zuuror Phorlock! Mak Toii!" Commander Stadash issued a final glory before he ordered his squadron to assume formation, and to fly off.

"Father." Saytisa knelt for Yahil while addressing him, and resumed a standing. "Valjen sings while people die. Aqueducts are blockaded and the food supply is depleted for another moonrise in the Yellow-Eye District. I come also for Atalae." Putting to rest her personal affair, she transferred the message delivered from the courier.

"You do not inform Qui-Qua of what She has not suffered. The Yellow-Eye District will flourish, give me this moon, if I were not involved with prior trade from Kyn and Iskjar-. Atalae is separate matter. " Phorlock's resentment for a self-disobedience squelched his direction. Toiishok had given him no time for trivial motives. One piece of Ruukaana, a morbid reminder of his departed wife, and wife-to-be, lined the stole alongside of his formal cureiass.

"Atalae is in want of an apron." Saytisa discussed her deal of prominence, her Yahil always gave in.

Phorlock dismissed Saytisa. Lunging pier-to-pier on the Bay of life, he stooped on the sandcomb, where his trial would await...

"Well, well, it's Emperor Phorlock of the guuda-bloods, we're Blessed your on time for our meeting. It's disrespectful to be late, like you always are." That velvety voice clattered on atrocious heels. With a heavy leer the Zuuror greeted the anthropod people.

"Our people know how to be respectful." Though it was almost impossible for any Quiin to show no fear in the face of Valjen naja-muzzles, in Zuuror Phorlock's case it was painstakingly-written on his swaying abdomen. Having found his spare moments well-spent rehearsing to deal the death-of-self wasted, he was now flinging a song and dance to impress the trio of brawny raiders. Psychological warfare soon ruptured in a bellow of laughs and playful yawns to Phorlock, but his interest was on the vessel docked behind. Valjenite forces always equipped weapons at meetings, and sailed on a huge ship.

"Charming. Now listen, old man. If you want our Raids to stop then whenever we want any of your wealth or resources, they're ours. We may even take some of your people without your explicit permission, though this will be far and in-between since you've been such a good provider to us by far. We may take whatever we want from you without serious conflict. You are Ours to own. Understood?" The warrioress of the troop began laying down the law on every pleasure.

"It must delight you to sail all the way from the nation of Mer's South Pole to threaten us. Of course I remember our agreement." The Zuuror bore a repressed gaze at the party of seven-length, dog-nosed pirates. The Valjen were taller than most of the Quiin lords, more massive in muscle composition. He peered at the musclebound female addressing him, in particular. She was one of the leaders sent by the South nation, along with the two other men. She was no less fearsome than they.

"Hardly, King bone-face. We're paid by the tide, so let's hurry this up. Now, that leads me into my next question. Your families are very wealthy, yes?" Tyday impudently shoved strapping arms forward, the glint of her mule teeth hung under a yellow mane. The knot over the brow appeared and smelled as locks of tornadica-horse hair.

"Most are, but there are an unfortunate few who are not." The accompaniments were a pair of amused thugs when they imitated Phorlock's timid motions to crudeness as he squelched a pulsing urge to leap down the road, his body aback to the muscular pirateress. Only a brave Quiin man could tolerate Tyday's scaly laugh. Even for a valjenite, a face of the naja-dogs could not flatter her better.

"Well that's too bad, perhaps you'll need to distribute the wealth around, you know? We will still take less than half from you, as a courtesy, but in light of this fact, perhaps we'll take a sliver more off your dirty exoskeletons and your Worth. Don't worry, we wouldn't dream of stealing it all, oh no. We very much like that you Beard-Loopers are thin and happy, makes for better 'spirits in your mines." Tyday recognized Phorlock's imprudent condition, granting him a soft neigh. "So continue to feed your leaping nymphs well, but we just want to make sure we're clear that if you dare strike out at us at all, and we will find out, that you can count on your Pretty-little Guuda-Isle burned to cinder-sand and your slimy ookhaat-spawn in our brothels. Got it? You had better, because I'd love to sell those golden quills of yours..." Tyday was a nasty quartermistress and surely knew the lingo in all cruel things. She despised his lack of humor on pulling what he called a mustache, she was aware he found it forgiving of her to bend down to tug him by the rings of his support quill and then to chaff its fine hair. She would violate his presence in mocking mitts and as she threatened the abash Zuuror, a pressing tap from her razor cutlass told otherwise.

"The people of Qui-Qua would be honored to continue this arrangement." The Zuuror prevented a glare from greeting her kind favor, soothing his quills.

That Valjenite lass seemed ever satisfied with a grief-filled surrender.

"Very good, Emperor Beard-Looper. I'm so glad we can come to such compromises, it saves us a Guuda-Bay's worth of trouble. As long as you meet our quota, Qui-Qua, along with your Tree-hugging neighbors will be well-off, and so will Dear-Sweet Princess Saytisa. So now that we have that pleasantly settled, we'll see you in another five moons." Tyday seemed unappeased, by no means would the king apologize for such a petty offering. The South would collect a sum of thousands and little less than ten puogat.

"Wait! Valjen promised to assure the health of the recent people taken to the mines!" Phorlock hustled to secure his chance, terrified to have forgotten the most important issue of Quiin complaint.

"Should we get them, Snikat?" One raider forced the key-loop out of a clothen pocket. He polished the aquamarine fittings in handy precision, and yet he was chuckling while fiddling with the boldfaced metal.

"Go ahead." Snikat was the second of the Valjenite women in this unit, as the lord observed. Of all the ridicule, she insulted Phorlock's people the most. The lanken harpy stood with a blank as battle was a matter of triviality to her. She was bored, noticed by a roll of shifty lids that struck a vein as if quarrying would be rather preferred.

The Zuuror loosened his arms to pray, from the bows they would emerge. In ones and threes, yells of His Zuuror rolled down the gangplank.

"If there is a single sign of mistreatment on their presence, this counts as a declaration of war to Qui-Qua!" Phorlock's weeping harrow left corners of both his tightened eyes, when an impulse of surged through, he shared his sobs. Bravery saw her end, to stand his ground was impossible. Tyday's collided will and joy forged the humiliation he felt.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your hat on, wilted insect, they're right here." Tyday and a robust woman fitly yanked on a shackle of stone, the slave-miners were led to attention. Twelve adults, worn but alive and printed well, all accounted for. Snikat had budged not when his laborers were tortured by Valjen chains, and now the curl of her mustache purely delighted.

"I will send the next family." The sprinkle of the Zuuror's tears were a signal of the strength of Qui-Qua, but to the Valjenite they were a picking of play.

Phorlock perused all manner of Qui-Qua's top-secret trades recorded on the scrolls, the Quiin kingdom's sale of chosen laborers to the mines were often at an awful price.

"I Toiishuk, how fares flora-Atalae?" One District female assumed the position for Mak Yexahcunza. The Zuuror could be driven to the ultimate act for those named, if Tyday had not cleared her troops against a maiden's exploitation.

Phorlock read his account.

Any Quiin would be shocked of eel to learn that the Valjenite swarm hid a cruelly-disfigured male among the Quiin-Draconik slaves. Underneath a sadly muffled mandible of his mistress, hung a fleshy leash by the petty remnants of what were full-quills, yet burned-off to the abraded bone. The Zuuror grieved of piety-impounding pain, the muzzle to his ire. He was powerless, for in the Valjen-controlled mines, covered abuse was common. The bound Zuuror told a trifle when bargaining with the Valjen, a necessity of hate.

Pairs boarded with drilling tow, heaving the Ruukaana barge under keel with pin. Yeionaa fought with an ache in her shoulders, for she was Atalae's yasheim, and her wed Atalae's Yahil. Seven captors in total led Yeionaa and those latched among the hallowed starboard.

"Did you see how he looked when we brought his gamemates to deck?" Tyday and two mates bucked and rolled in a droll pecking.

"Aahahahahaaa, Tyday, my abdom flanks will be strick'en ill!" The wiles of the twenty-seas could not console Snikat's outburst in present time. The image of the Quiin Emperor's sorrow was still present on a fury brow.

Immense partings covered the icy sub-tundraoic tides, within them floated a bevy of violent cutlery and laces of dagron-hide boots.


	3. Age

Every effort of Quiin-kind supplied were of benefit to the Valjenite. For everything Qui-Qua made, Valjen stole. All bonds lovingly forged by it's people were used akin to their waste facilities, words trampled and rewritten. In the mines, their scribes' stories were butchered by kelp lilies and happy-endings, icons repainted and replaced with stamps or numbers.

"Kyn." Then he answered to Kree's Plight as the Zuuror called him commonly."We can't negotiate, not with Valjen." Kyn was also aware Qui-Qua was dealing with some very punitive forces, and he was terrible.

"Why?" Kyn was solely left of their meeting, Phorlock was the only lord who insisted the plan against Valjen would need to be changed. The dynamics shiftedd with Phorlock's nod. "What is it?" He pardoned the Zuuror to confide in he.

PART

Qui-Qua was long-ago decided as a place few on Mer would visit, whether it was for its geology or its unpredictable weather none could tell but it was called the 'forgotten island' for some reason. The Zuuror mused on his place of honor.

"Saytisa, Mantus is home!" Atalae pulled her lady's arm from her bustling standing, wholly submerged in idle chatter with the lords. "Uncle and aunt want to see you, too." Her feet flew to inform the grounded vehkyis of a visitation.

Saytisa cursed her sour breath.

"Oh and such a handsome young man he is! He'll have princesses lining up to marry him, Phorlock! You'll have to beat them off with a stick and throw them in prison!" Aunt Potunona squealed and riled as a double of nails on Mantus squeezed his cheek. Aunt Potunona traipsed on her foot before dumping her bags to give the lad a money pile so big, that it toppled him over even beside the pile Uncle Vass added on.

Respectable Uncle, ruler of the Orange-Eye District, always granted bars of gold. Saytisa wanted to vomit.

"Oh, we haven't forgot you, Saytisa! Here you are!" Aunt Potunona waddled while puckering her wide lips, she presented the girl with a folded and gently-ribboned silk. Saytisa lamented the day her Niok arrived home early.

"Great, just what I needed, another neckerchiff." In a tired melody Saytisa sighed, feeling fortunate no one tuned a radar on her sarcasm. She likened to expected courtesies, then seeing her aunt stare. "Thank you Aunt Potunona, for your great-age gift, It's very beautiful and I am grateful." Saytisa was welcomed by a smile. Aunt Potunona turned away.

"Well thankfully, that's a few years off!" Phorlock nervously laughed and cleansed a loose brow, the Zuuror fumed and sweat when considering certain implications of flora-Saytisa's twentieth sun. "Especially if she's going to be making regular detours in the Grove." The Zuuror's whispers incited Potonona to nod, he commending his lochide's aunt on her wise decision.

"Oh Phorlock, you're such a kidder!" Curly tresses bouced with her laugh, Potunona swiveled on toe and moved beside Zuuror Phorlock. "So the coming-of-age ceremony is next week's moon, you must have a first-bride picked out, dear brother?" Phorlock attempted to converse with his shuskav about many acts before an Aunt and Uncle would gorge on the bountiful feast prepared for visitors.

"Zuuror, Your Majesty." The Zuuror hearkened to the appeal of a tiny Staggazer maiden. whispered "Guests." Chythea informed him that company had arrived.

"Thank you, Aunt P'." Mantus happily sung, he greeted the attention. Aunt Potunona was so generous. He stuck his tongue through a rack of teeth as she clacked out of the linoleum. Tikla counted pieces during his hiatus of admiring the pile. He will surely spend it well, while he consoles his pinched cheek.

"Mantus, I would like a word with you." Phorlock gestured Mantus aside, knowing favorably this would be a warm meet by his 'yes Yahil. Tikla Mantus knelt to Zuuror Phorlock. Hoping for a praising report, by misfortune His Majesty's news would be cool.

"Girls are useless. I'm a man now, I don't see why father makes me do this. You should just stay in the palace and not get grounded." Mantus drooped his bag when he trudged from the banquet hall, his brow lowered. Yahil was proud of his exceptional grades, to mishap. No sour mark or rotten luck compared to the disappointment of having learned to tolerate the stress of academy-life, only to play politics at home.

"I know you're a man now, I learned that on the exact ninety-eight time you and everyone else proclaimed it from the rooftops. For once, can't you keep your conceited mentality to yourself? In your vision to the Royal-Draconik dream, I hatch one-to-six nymphs every two tundraoic-years for the rest of my life." Sovereign Qui-Quas' Tikla growled to the corner of vehkyis Saytisa's rolled eyes and the obnoxious noise of her fluttering lips; she proceeded to sweep a text-scroll into her duffle.

"Only three to five pass through the sauctai." Mantus smiled through a teasing laugh, delighted with a word he learned in a session of biology. Humiliated and saddened, the vehkyis smacked him. "You should be happy for me!" Mantus stomped a gold-pleated heel, his otherwise assuaged temper boiled to a meltdown.

"Well you should stop being a kreld-mouth!" Saytisa retaliated with a second slap foully, an idea to shut his yaph by telling Yahil of Tri-Fellow's Academy teaching such perverse vocabulary crossed her mottled cranium.

"You swore!" Mantus clasped hands over a gasping mouth, aghast to hear such crudeness from his estranged ilk.

"So I did. I'm allowed." Saytisa coldly snapped. She was mocking his quills to end but she granted him a cruel fleer, her jowls tense.

Mantus understood her lewd behavior. Intense studies were pressing, and she was very irritable.

"You're supposed to respect your Brother." Mantus was told not whether her critisim was envy of his place of power. Saytisa supposed his life was easy

"I don't care what I'm supposed to do. Why should I listen to you when all you want to do is talk about yourself and make this walk miserable for both of us?" Saytisa veered off course the stream, patting her robe thrillingly, as she desired to bend down and stiff a pink flower.

"Because if you don't, I'll tell Yahil you don't want to marry the prince from the Green-Eye District, and you'll be grounded for another eight-moonsets." For reasons Mantus stooped low, sometimes delighted in a little blackmail, and he would have Yahil groaning. He briefly ceased a heel to step on his shuskav's stamen, smashing the petals to a wilted powder.

"You're such a child." Saytisa gave no mention to her Niok's foolish grin, paused to her half-lidded eyes. Mantus knew she easily harbored thoughts of ratting him out, with no consequence to her, and watched his shuskav while she wiped the Octo-petal from her dirty and torn sleeve.

"Dock-flora." The Tikla chided.

"Will you please be quiet, Mantus. I'm as unhappy with this as you are, I'm seventeen and I have to be followed around by my kid-niok because I can't grow a beard, thus cannot be trusted wherever I go. My punishment is almost up and then you'll be able to walk freely." Saytai bit her lip hard enough to start a flow of tears, she had once told Mantus how she despised being a tomboy in the culture of Quiin. Confiding in Mantus was a chore in itself, for though he understood Saytisa's shared hatred Qui-Qua's regulations in the company of family, he could fast be found guilty and dragging her in trouble with her Zuuror.

"Well you deserve it for walking in the Teyuat Grove, I didn't do nothing! By the Dark Dweller, I saw you with Rote-cough!" Mantus crossed arms over a chest, that bragged of an honest temperament.

Saytisa would often ponder what her brother's obsession with death had to do with the plague that wiped out most of the continent's youth.

Externally Mantus was a choir-lad, but internally...he was worse than Haegous.


	4. Twelve Suns' Spell

"It will be a long time before I return to Miragon, Slaggon." Among the palace hospital lurked a dressed maiden, she smoothed a mane of fringe while she ceased to correct the most clever of her children. "Bloth, come here." Avadasia searched around the room for the apprentice and his black dreads.

"What say we use the Maelstrom?" Sounds of a rolling thunder flashed in the skylight of the dawn chamber and a plethora of floorboards folded in soft creaks, the grinning lad of forty-five fourfold combed his locks. The boy lifted his step after his bulking body.

Bloth's turned to his mother and the memory of his distant childhood.

Avadasia, during an evening before bed, retold the story of Phorlock's brother.

For before Qui-Qua was a patriarchy, Avadasia witnessed the pleasure of her own time, matron mantids far outnumbered the much insignificant male and forcing the best of potential mates to fight to their Kuunda-given right to breed was not only great Sport for the lady-kind of Qui-Qua Isle, but provided insurance of a fertile lover, and even profit.

Because Phorlock could not easily resolve his rivalry with Morphanus, who constantly deceived his younger brother while he was with his suitors, Morphanus challenged him to dual.

The contest was one of chivalry and endurance, the weapon of choice was a standard spear or blade of the Ruukaana, Avadasia always said.

Morphanus chose spear over sword, as his best would say.

The description of the epic battle was a child Bloth's most apprehensive moment. Morphanus failed to toss Phorlock into burning flames or seal his productive Quill and thus it cost him; Over the bridge of the lava-guyser lakes he met his doom under Phorlock's skilled blade, he was forever prevented from performing the Dre Yiixahcuns, and his Quills were burned to the bone, his loins sewn closed for an eternity.

Avadasia knew Bloth always sympathized with Phorlock's brother, and she rather enjoyed recounting this part. While Phorlock was permitted to become Zuuror and choose any concubine desired for his harem, Morphanus was ostracized.

He took up refuge on the shore of Tayhoj, with plans to plunder the seas.

Many suns has passed when he had become a successful admiral, higher of naval status than Phorlock himself. Of course, Morphanus was banished from Qui-Qua Isle for his dishonorable boast against his brother.

Morphanus was a vile master, costing his men to many depths of their personal resources.

Avadasia would seat herself on the ledge of her gleeful boy's cot while she spelled the rest; the exile drove his crew to insanity in search of ocean-bound treasure until one moon when a curious crew of four was lost off the shores of Paragueza, East of Qui-Qua.

This crew was captained by a young little thing, perhaps as charming and handsome as Stalagor's prince himself. This ship was on course for the mines but had ventured too far; and were found frozen in the depths of the Swaligan ice-caves, higher and lower than you and I have ever voyaged, Bloth. Avadasia whispered in the creaking berth.

Three of the crew members had debarked from the frozen sea and gone inside the channels to seek aid, but they disappeared, for the cold was too much, and the mouth leading to the outside...Avadasia laughed.

Well let's just say these three in the cavern were soon regretful in their meddlesome ways not a moonbeam after. Bloth always smiled at this part.

This boy responsible for driving this vessel to the peaks of the unknown followed his mates through a creak in the ice, mustering enough strength to break the solid barrier with a steel rod and edged himself inside to search for his unaccounted.

It was to his misfortune the very weapon he used to get himself in would prevent him from getting himself out, a mere rattle in the ice caused the whole chamber to shake. Before he knew, a collapsed boulder had blocked his entryway.

The teenage Captain tried and tried in vain to free the boulder from it's hinge, but it was sealed shut.

Morphanus pursued the lad not a leviathan's jump after and using the superb strength granted him in battle with his brother Phorlock, he moved the obstacle with very tiny a strain on his body. Discovering the quartet to be alive, he quickly befriended the Captain and his shivering crew.

Perniciously and patiently, Morphanus waited until the crew had thawed from their icy binds.

"Onward, to My Blood!" He said while he ordered them chained to the keel of the boat. He carefully positioned their heads only enough above water, they could inhale a breath of ocean air on occasion, then so they would drown slowly, but surely.

Morphanus did not reach the vision of his journey, for his fate ran short. On the evening of the moon celebration in Sethenmoon, he was hanged at the gallows outside of Octopon's palace for his crimes.

The practitioners of Octopon's legends say his wicked soul was condemned to Fezwa but many of us believe his spirit still inhabits the King's palace, waiting for an unsuspecting harpy to free him from his misery.

Bloth had despised this true story she always told, he hoped for the brother's vengeance at an end, answer to the question of whether Morphanus would return to life. He confronted his mother by the laboratory breach.

Avadasia seared with untold scorn for the second of her children by her, Slaggon, a lad passing time by meagerly examining the storm through the panel. Such a cruel mother she was but highly intelligent, as her favorite child reminded. Bloth and herself, they were very much looking toward a successful conquest in Ebron, after she was done with Phorlock of Qui-Qua.

The sound was condensed, it spilled a rap of liquid.

"Please, remember me!" Snikat convulsed with a heartfelt apology that hit the deafened walls. Begging for recognition for her evil deeds beneath Mistress Avadasia, though none would be received while a corpse was eaten away by the darva-worms' impoverishment, the suffering of fang and fluid eroding bones.

Bloth impaled the heart, his mother glared a his mass of useless flesh. Bloth's rage did the mercy kill for Avadasia, silencing her penchant for prolonging the suffering of victims. "It was us or you." The smallest boy sniggered, slicking back his ebony bangs. Bloth's grin became the final light to the eyes as Stalagorian-blood run. Snikat had been a dear friend to the family, often joining Bloth in playing in the fields of Stalagor's suburbs.

"I will need two more cartons of ore, and Slaggon has the necessary dagron hides." Avadasia was livid. The Stalagorian queen was a fancy title with little reward for her deeds. She despised an ugly shape currently forged on her, and she would not transform to assume her role as Queen to the Valjenite until a later date. It was only unfortunate she could not access the seas herself, or she would soon give the Quiin a soothing nightmare.

Lifting the chiseled pelvis of Oeystia and the dry-rotted skeleton, she noted the polished wear of a true maiden.

The chastity maile, a series of piercings drilled into the loin bones of female mantids were not to torture as her Stalagorian pioneers thought, but to bar Valjenite influences of their valuable offspring, the Ookhaat. Only pure men of Quiin Draconik-kind capable of Dre Yiixahcuns could break the solid goldmaile without being mortally harmed. With this law in effect, Phorlock had ways of thwarting Avadasia's plans, even without knowing the spirit behind Avadasia's alias.

For reasons clear, the Zuuror desired to keep his race untainted.

"When do I rule?" Bloth tapped his lengthy foot while his mother hastily prepared a record of schemes. Although anyone would class her as a borca-brain to expect a grandiose conquest of her sweetest boy, she felt Bloth's dangerous temper, even in infancy. Despite her cerebral prowess, it was her union with the king that forced her painstaking silence. This would all change when an ultimate prize would grant her one wish for free tears.

Marriage, was a painful word. The word she was told meant happiness by the maids of Palace Stalagor. When she was brought to his throne, it changed.

This word would mean nothing more, once her spell to the most repulsive of beasts was at last broken...

She was troubled by what happened to the real Queen of Valjen, in Avadasia's disbelief and dissonance, the tale of her being torn in two by a tornado and a wave from the Guuda-coast was not believed or welcomed at all by the Valjenite.

The Crown Queen of Stalagor couldn't easy fight these hordes of doubters, she did not harp that the story was true as longitude.

"Son. If we are to a obtain strategic victory over these vermin, we must play to their culture. Draconik-kind will not even allow Octopian influences to their sacred Ookhaat." Avadasia often cringed at Phorlock ordering the women of Qui-Qua's consent to be pierced, or their names would be added to the dishonor list; this still did not prevent Quiin males from violating her mistresses, but it did stop the slow depreciation of the water-mantid through contaminating the Quiin's genes. "Eradicating the Dre Yiixahcuns is not the ideal. When the Thirteen Treasures are under my control Ruukaana will no longer be necessary and neither will the Quiin. For all I care, those bugs can choke on aphids." Avadasia gnarled as she snapped the door at rest.

"Bloth, I don't see why mother doesn't simply wipe out Draconiks. She can easily take their genes and ahem, preserve them." Slaggon's brow flurried with interest. Two tundraoic moons ago he had suggested his idea of creating a new species, a subservient army capable of performing any task from potato-shucking to boatswaining, perhaps even flying.

"Why wipe them out when we can take them aboard the Maelstrom?" The ponderous child grinned in fervor. Bloth delighted in hearing his brother's methods, knowing Slaggon would be cut off from mother's inheritance.

His mother collected all the desired pieces to the construction of a warship to end all warships, the Maelstrom. Comprised of materials forged by Mer's most renowned rogues and shipwrights, both he and his younger brother, Slaggon, were shocked that the seamen who sold the vessel to her were not prone to a lustful outburst when dealing with a woman as vibrant as Avadasia. The megalith fortress started on the base of a simple hull, fashioned from millennial wood, it was not until suns later his mother set out on an amphibious expedition for bones of the ruthless leviathan.

One shipwright of Avadasia's had by some circumstance of Kuunda's intervention, survived two swords and an entire arsenal of amagimate arrows through his frontal cranium and then retained the orifices to back up his claim. Master of his work, he had sold Avadasia the mighty ribs for five-thousand kiladrabul.

The bow of course, was skull of the Krelikan, a bane to all seafarers. No man or beast had defeated this creature, but Bloth alone witnessed first-hand the power of the gem under his mother's command.

It was this day Bloth knew where his Kuunda-fearing soul would be, he alone would inherit the beauty and mysteries of the Treasures of Rule on his mother's passing, and whether Slaggon would be heir to Avadasia's ship was no longer a force of concern.

For the Stalagorian prince's ego was of curiosity and prestige. If his mother achieved her settlement on every continent, his reward would be substantial.

Avadasia granted Slaggon control of the subterranean units but it was Bloth who raised the Jolly-roger, as called the Moordarsh Skull, in the honor of his beloved father, Lord Moordarsh of Stalagor.

"What purpose would they serve aboard, is our crew not large enough." Slaggon often questioned his brother's thinking, he and Bloth were princes in their own right but Slaggon felt only he could possess the knowledge to train a worthwhile crew. With Valjenite legions in tow, the Maelstrom was hardly short-staffed and there would be always be more willing recruits. Valjen profited in piracy and lived by the refuge of the wind.

Bloth told no man has plan for sea-domination, a slight his own mother had overlooked in construction of the Maelstrom. The huge gaping cavity of Her hull was destined to be filled...

Phorlock inscribed the Seal of His sublime country from the Overlook, for once Qui-Qua's shores took no threat yonder. Reinforcements would soon be arriving at the stroke of a pen and His Supreme Lordship held high a pride in His defensive forces for such a feat. Yet...some plague of mind struck the Zuuror's heart ablaze.

The pair of silver eyes played and waited while green rays of twilight fluttered over a bank.

Cries of contention consumed the ridge of a well-traveled forest. Over the pane of the palace, the Zuuror's headquarters faded into the horizon while two teens rushed ahead to the end of a bridge.

Over the turf the siblings pushed against one-another.

"If you're such a man than act like one, being a man means you can't always do what you want." Saytisa puffed a dissatisfied noise, the rock hit a target of a darva larvae.

"I'll tell Yahil that you said I'm not being a worthy niok." Mantus's lip twisted with satisfaction, having hit his shuskav in the vulnerable heart.

"When did I say that? I didn't say you weren't a good broffer at all. I said being a man means you can't always do what you want, and that you should behave more like one because your Quills are Whole now and you've entered the Honored stage of your life. Now, good niok, because I have to look up to you, mind doing something that doesn't involve boasting and threatening to tell Yahil on me for being a bad sister?" Saytisa curled a chin and spat. The stomp of the Quiin vehkyis slammed threateningly beside the gold-pleated toe of Mantus's best.

"Broffer? It's niok. Your dialect tastes like chewed-and-spit kreld." Mantus curtailed his jeer at the inkling of Yahil's presence; his shuskav could not understand a Tikla's expectations, not even a stroll in the garden of Qui-Qua palace could bring him peace.

"Well, anyway." Saytisa granted an unwanted escort a narrow huff. Though it was unpleasant, she must be able to perform Mak Yexahcunza and bear the Ookhaat. This was the natural order. On the isle of Qui-Qua Dre Yiixahcuns was a conversational topic of even the most renowned despots but when she spoke of sex in Merrian-Common, it often earned her wanton stares.

"Leave my sister alone!" Mantus severed the string of Serkhios's pouch, fending him off with a stick from the foliage. Released exorbitantly fast, a yelp of the miser's torment pierced the sky after Mantus speared the blunt softly to his gut. Another knock on the cranium served enough of a gods' motivation for Serkhio to abandon thievery, once and for all. Saytisa's gasp flushed inward, the elite looter tumbled to the knees, wallowing over branches when he fled.

Prostitutes of the Draconik race were prevented from performing Mak Yexahcunza by the altering of her anatomy, thus making bonding a joyless duty. Much was a fate comparable to death, for some.

Some despicable characters would pillage a woman then anatomically alter her body this way so Mak Yexahcunza could not be achieved, sealing her fate as a prostitute. This fate Saytisa would not have so benevolently escaped, were Mantus not there to stop Serkhio in his tracks.

"Now do you respect me as a man?" Mantus posed with grace. The Tikla resumed a dignified trot.

Her lofty frown shattered as a pane of Yahil's compass, the girl's gripe was none too weary. She tossed her melded sigh. "Fine. Brother." On her single Saytisa followed, as she did not wish for the discord to continue. Though respect was a virtue she did not admit, she was a trifle impressed by what seamanship and combat skill he had learned.

"Your literacy in Common is food for the naja-dogs, stop flaunting it, Sister." Mantus hurled a sour quip while Saytisa huffed, the corner of a smile curled upon the vehkyis's grassy lips.

Villages watched the sun setting in the rain-forests of Andorus. Supreme ecomancer, was a title that would be extinct by the end of this decade. The number of natives who thrived on soil was ending. Teron with his father had forged a spell capable of the intelligence to recognize one man or woman.

The monster that lived under the roots of the Viva tree was something to do with nutrients draining from the soil. Not even the chieftain could make sense of it, for the blight was banished too long ago.

Teron remembered the curious tale of his ancestry. No one had ever attempted to catch the constrictus.

Morning peaked over the canyons of Raauhn, the shoreline of Tayhoj burst with excitement.

"Stop it, Ioz!" Solia's stone and her voice screeched to the tune of the clattering conch shells. "I'm exhausted." This wasn't the first time she had faked a whine, older brother retorted about how she had given no effort on the sail home to aid the family.

"Get the box." The lad of mid-youth broke for an awkward pause on the resting of his knees, he pointed to an oblong ridge and a black square.

"Why?" The slender figure behind hissed, she skipped a pebble toward his kneeling form.

"Just get it, I want to try something." With the swish of a tail of locks bound with the snap of his calloused hands, a grunt of a young man insisted. He was told by uncle to spend his time catching fish for the evening, but Ioz never spent his best moments on wasteful things like preparing for the future.

"Whatever, Big-Brother." Solia groaned while her feet kicked through the beige sand. The wink of sunlight swooshed beneath a pair of ruddy clouds before she returned with the crate.

"I don't feel like playing pirates anymore." Pretending to steal the drabul-case had gotten old Solia knew, but Ioz was far too bored to behave as everyday.

"Then, what now? Naja-dog." The budding lass sighed as she stared at her brother. Though being out for deliveries over the open sea was exciting enough, he seemed to always create more turmoil for the crew upon coming ashore.

"You watch your mouth, or I'll turn you into a fruit-wench like what father did with that melon-bellied stow. Do you think this is how he would have wanted us to live our lives, hmm? Waiting for the next day, counting blindly on the Kuunda-given wind to deliver us like some sea-gypsies?" He was never wholly the same after Raymit had disappeared but respect was a quality Ioz always kept for his dear father, Solia only seemed to provoke him on more than one occasion.

"You couldn't do it, if you wanted to. You're just a cabin-boy!" Solia skipped and laughed. She knew very well their father had given his life at sea to protect herself and Ioz, a truth both regarded in mutual understanding. Ioz toyed with atheistic perspective, mother wouldn't entertain his lack of faith. She too much to loose by telling his secret.

"Quiet." The sound of Solia launching into the sand at the thick of Ioz's tampering wasn't easy to ignore. The youth persisted, applying leverage until the lid would greet it's company widely. Ioz was clever for being grown the most of any child-skipper, he skillfully wielded that jackknife to dig under the nails of the planking.

"So you really think it will grow?" The whining tune ambled aside, Solia crawled to the edge of the water while hugging her knees and watching. Ioz didn't want to listen to her argument. He put the treasure in a cove of soil, utilizing some of the original packaging as a cover.

"Only one way to find out." Patting the sand and mumbling, sun lit his tanned shoulders. One kind of weight was need to protect his prize. The boulder in the shape of two dunes of kelp served fairly enough. Had he been older and wiser, Ioz would have guessed it was insanity to grow enough gold to set up a shop in Maientown. Voyages to the ends of Mer would not only no longer be necessary but he and Solia would be rich, each earning enough gold to buy what they pleased.

"Wait." Swirling of a pair of feet met the children's knees before Solia drew her doodle and laid the final touches of their prize. If all was set accordingly, the first plant of gold would be substantial, perhaps enough to buy the kayak for two in the town mall.

Brother and sister burbled on the road to the cabin. If Kuunda would have it, the ore Ioz buried would transform into gold, perhaps an endless amount.

For once, Ioz heard a tale of a royal alchemist who created gold from the blood of his enemies. For this purpose, it served to drive him to explore the world whenever possible and also, the possibilities of generating a door out of his family's poverty.

Solia didn't sleep that night in her brother's room, the anticipation of the fortune she and Ioz would awake to could have been enough to sail to a small island if necessary.

The following morn when Ioz took his sister down to the shore and waited below the same brush their uncle's parcel was laid to rest, a shot rung out, and it happened.

Ioz screamed under his blood flushing with adrenaline as his pupils dilated, a stretched impulse of Solia comatose...and then, darkness.

Qui-Qua's time spun lazily by, Toiishuk faded sorrowfully over the zenith of the districts. Daily academy classes had let out, a boy turned for the library.

Mantus scrutinized the gold, five drabul he counted. Yahil instructed him a specific deed, a duty which he alone was responsible enough to inherit. He happily rued the story of how he welcomed no extra coin to refrain from buying the incorrect scrub for Atalae.

On one starlight after class and hall, Mantus enjoyed lazing alone in the Grand chapel of Toiishuk. The building was an ancient monument devoted to the worship of a green sun which shone at no place on Mer but the Qui-Qua's zenith, high above Mount Kazanife.

"Mantus, I umm..." Sarkalmi marched along the stumpen pews, clicking a set of fine-polished nails amid the backing shelves while she uttered a ruse for dispute. The quarter-teen waited until the still shadow attended his eyes on an unexpected visitor. "If you're not going to give me Ookhaat, then go away." The gods did not flinch though she forced a break from Mantus, abandoning him as a potent-mother to her estranged offspring.

Females of the Draconik race expected not only a descendant, but a bodyguard. Sarkalmi was a common-girl and she thought a waste of his spending of the allowance gifted to him by his Yahil on getting high. She found it silly, servile. The prince met her as she won in a contest for Mantus to use one of them for the Dre Yiixahcuns, in a once arranged meeting between he and the girl classmates. He had given her the night of her life and done and empire of wrongs in Kuunda's court, committed every relation's-crime but splitting from her attachment and truth said, he loved her in his own way.

He laid in this sacred place, casually wasting his life for little reason. There he sat, as if he wished to defile the Isle's very ancestors.

It was a pufferfish, usually sold in a reef and tin or hydraulic satchel of ocean-water. To use it properly, the practitioner drew a knife or blunt object to poke the flesh of the animal and to force it's mouth open. Then succeeding in that, he inserted a flaming tinder and forced the creature to swallow, resulting in it's defense-mechanism of a very pleasurable gas. The smokes'-bearer held it close to his intakes until the withers' died a natural death of smoke inhalation.

"Go to scale-market then, just because you don't approve of my smoking-hobby?" Mantus smiled in a greedy chuckle as his former mate departed. Nevertheless, he cared not if she was attention-starved or one of those fish-cruelty activists. The scourge wanted laws from Zuuror passed, though they were always the first to complain of meat shortages.

It was nonsense, as Sarkalmi and many knew; the top-grade Puffrigars of Mantus's price-slot contained no addictive substances and were not processed, but sold entirely natural. Mantus's smoking habit was not shaped on the vice to get high but that people would not favor him because of it. He always chose when, picked the perfect time to indulge. Few of Draconik-kind understood this logic from one so high-born.

"Mantus." Before he could blink the oval of his lids, the superior scholar approached his neck. It was Fandren.

Two females with him yelled for attention from the lads.

"I'm going to Honmet's inn, it would be Kuunda's honor to have you come with us." Mantus sighed while he considered whether to agree. Honmet's was expensive, and testing was yet to be done the following moon. "You're a man now, right?" Fandren's bothering smile puckered way into the Tikla's avoiding fume.

His Quills were full and grown so that even without Yahil's proof-of-age that he could buy his sum of moons' money on Puffrigars. He planned on sizzling his dwindling supply of smokes that very night, five gold for his assignment was all that remained. Mantus remembered his extraordinary evening. He sought the library's central vestibule for a place of study and relaxation, the lavish squander before his task ahead left him without a single draubul to splurge on an egg-cone. Mantus clenched his fist over the gold. Honmet's allowed free entry with a paying party. He could easily appease Fandren and then collect the apron for his father's servant.


End file.
